


One Day

by Shortandblonde



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Hero of Ferelden died, Reminiscing, Somewhat grief/mourning, Takes place after In Hushed Whispers, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortandblonde/pseuds/Shortandblonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and Leliana share a brief moment in Redcliffe to discuss the last ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a couple weeks ago while playing through Inquisition. I don't actually know if Leliana would have been in Redcliffe during the events of In Hushed Whispers, but hey, I can pretend.

     Redcliffe had always held a subtle kind of beauty. If you would look out across Lake Calenhad at sunset, you could see the light reflect off the water and bathe the castle in beautiful shades of deep purple and soothing reds. In the distance, Kinloch Hold stretched above the water and into the sky as a tall and unignorable presence. As a child Alistair had spent most of his evenings sitting on the steps of the Chantry, watching boats cross the lake as the sky changed colors until it was dark and the Revered Mother would drag him inside to do the duties he'd neglected. It'd been one of the more simple things he'd taken comfort in when he was young. It was strange, to be back. He hadn't walked these grounds but once or twice since the Blight ended, as being a king didn't really allow him much time to go on leisure trips back home.

     Not that he ever really considered Redcliffe a home. He loved Arl Eamon like a father, true. He'd grown up playing with the hunting dogs and training to be a templar in the Chantry, spent half his childhood causing trouble in the town, but it had never really been a home in the truest sense. No, home was the Grey Wardens. It always would be, even if he couldn't return to them right now. One day he'd hear the Calling sing to him, and one day he'd die in the Deep Roads like his predecessors had, fighting darkspawn until he took his final breath in battle. Home was the days he'd spent on the road with a group of ragtag allies at his side, searching for way to end the Blight and bring order back to his land. Home had been the quiet nights in camp when they'd sit around a fire and trade tales and stories late into the night. Home was the warden he'd fought beside, her confident smile, the taint they shared and the plans they had to rebuild the Ferelden's Grey Wardens after the war had ended.

     It was odd to think that all of that had been over a decade ago when it was still so fresh in his mind. Even now, when he sat on the throne and did what he could to rule Ferelden with a steady hand, he'd find himself looking for faces he'd never see within the court again.

    There was a monument in Redcliffe, of a griffon. It laid in the middle of town with it's wings folded and it's head bowed, as if it were taking a rest. People said that it was for her- for the warden who died to kill the archdemon in the last Blight. But in truth, he'd built it for all of them. For every Warden who'd given their life, whether in battle or in the Joining. It was for Cenra Cousland, and Duncan, and so many others. It was for himself, when his time came, and for every man and woman who would one day taste the taint of darkspawn blood. Staring up at the monument, he couldn't help but wonder what they'd all think of him. Duncan, Cenra, and all of the Wardens he'd only briefly known, but had to grown to be his brothers. What would his mother say, or the half brother that died at Ostagar, or the father he'd only ever met within the Fade, just to lose him moments later?

     "I feel the same way, every time I come here." The voice was that of a woman's, a gentle Orlesian accent touching her words. He turned, unsurprised to find that Leliana hadn't aged a day since he last saw her all those years ago. Not outwardly, at least. Inwardly, he was sure that she was just as different as he was. Older, harder, somehow more cynical without ever meaning to be. She wore an Inquisition badge on her chest, and a sad, sweet smile on her lips as she gazed past him and towards the stone griffon. "It really is hard to believe how much has happened since the Blight."

     "It is good to see you, Leliana." He returned her smile, watching her. It'd been so long since they'd crossed paths, yet her presence was as easy and comfortable as it had always been. He supposed that was just how the Blight had brought people together. She turned to him.

     "You as well, Alistair. Or should I say _your majesty?"_

     "You know well that Alistair is fine. ...Ten years," he mused, looking back up at the monument. "So much has changed. I somehow haven't brought Ferelden to it's knees, the Circle of Magi has fallen, there's a hole in the sky, and yet.."

     "It feels like yesterday." She stepped up beside him. "I know what you mean."

     "I was going to say that they still call me the bastard prince. But.. that too."

     She chuckled. The stood in silence for a while, staring up. He began to notice odd details in the griffon, small scratches and imperfections. A bird had defecated on it's neck. Towards the base, a child had scratched their name into the stone. He sighed. "I know it's odd, but.. I still miss her. You'd think after so long it'd just go away. And then.."

     "And then you're on the road, and you look beside you, and she isn't there." Her voice cracked, and he looked at her. Her eyes just might've been wet. "And you have to take a moment to wonder why you expected her in the first place." He nodded.

     "It's almost.. disappointing, sometimes. She should be here. Of all of us, she deserved to live through the Blight. To mourn her family, to see the wardens rebuilt, to- to live a life beyond all that _chaos._ "

     "I always said that the world grew a little darker after she died. I haven't been able to find a light like it since." She shifted her gaze downwards, then back up at Alistair. "Sometimes I see flashes of her, in the Herald. Her confidence and her brilliance. It's how I felt I could put my faith in him."

     "I met him earlier, when I went to the castle to clear up the trouble with the mages. The moment I looked at him.. I had to do a double take." He let out a small laugh. "Strange, isn't it? They don't even look alike. They're not related."

     "No. Not physically. But.. there is a relation, I think. Somehow. Maybe it's something to do with the Maker's chosen, or it just takes a certain kind of person to be the hero everyone needs. But there is something there."

     "Maybe." He paused, turning his back to the griffon and looking over the village. It had changed considerably since he'd come with Cenra to find help during the Blight. Many of the buildings that had been damaged were repaired, or rebuilt entirely alongside new ones. The sun had long since set, but he could still clearly picture what it might have looked like when the light was reflecting out over the water. He almost wished that he'd spent more than a few nights in Redcliffe when he'd come for Arl Eamon's help. Cenra would have found the sunsets absolutely astonishing. He sighed, then looked back at Leliana. "I should take my leave before someone loses their mind over my absense. It was good to see you again, Leliana." She smiled and dipped her head.

     "I pray we cross paths again. May the Maker guide you, Alistair." He returned the smile.

     "You as well." With a final glance at the griffon, he turned to and walked down the path through the village, towards where he men were camped outside the walls. _One day_ , he thought as he left the monument behind him, _One day, I'll join you, and we'll meet again at the Maker's side. Not too soon, my dear, but one day. Wait for me._

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write something, and then I'm never sure how exactly to end it.


End file.
